".. and I would not say it is even a matter of principal," Velarian said with a shrug, ruby eyes searching the face of the man walking by his side. "It is common sense. If you lock a person in, chances are they will try to escape. Now if you have someone who wants to stay of his own accord, the case lays entirely different. There is no reason to make such affairs more unpleasant than they need to be. We are no savages." He tilt his head to the side. "Of course, sometimes there is no other way."
Behind them the muted cry from the nest, which had caused Velarian's sudden outburst faded, and the man shook his head. Hands in his pockets he balanced along the thread of red silk leading towards the market, eyes fixing the distant dark of the cave. The tall man wasn't worried to slip and fall. Years living in Kalinor had taught him to navigate the long silken rope ways, the swing bridges spanning between buildings like the gossamer threads of a cobweb like humans might roam the alleys and venues of any other city they called their home. He liked wandering through the city on them, but it was rare he had other company than his son doing so. Velarian had come to know Velenor years ago, but he could not claim to know the man. The other symenestra liked to stick to himself.
"I hope you will look over my little tantrum," Velarian murmured without turning. "What where we talking about? Animation I believe." Casually the man trailed his yaw line with a dark claw like nail, brushing strands of pale hair from his face. "We should see, if we find something interesting to work with," he suggested, nodding towards the market right ahead. "How are your own studies going? I take it, you made some headway?"
Magic. It was one of the topics you could get the silent man to talk about, Velarian knew. The man focused on other arts than the Animator, yet discussions had proven to be interesting in the past and Velarian had come to enjoy them. Once in a while at least.
Stepping from the main street the tall man looked around. As always there were fabrics on display, white, nature and dyed in colors many of his kin came to enjoy, rich red and black, green reminding them of the jungle tops. Elegant fabrics, smooth and delicate or practical, hardwearing. There was no shortage of linen and silk and other things one might need to sew a dress, robe or shirt. Velarian ignored them in favor of some items of foreign craft. A mirror made from glass caught his attention, but the piece was too expensive. For a while he looked over a set of knives with running dogs engraved on the hilts, yet he had to admit he had no real use for him.
Turning, Velarian caught sight of something interesting however. Or someone rather. He rose a hand for the woman not ten feet away to see. "Nisana," he greeted with smile.